49 and Counting

No, seriously--honestly--I'm turning 49 today or tomorrow, depending when you're reading.  I know, I know....nobody believes us when we say we're "39, 49, 59, 69...."  They always think we're skirting the reality of our humanity.  But, honestly, I am turning 49 tomorrow.  February 19, 1962.  The day before John Glenn orbited the earth.  I received my first AARP card in the mail a few weeks back.  I swear I thought they waited until you were turning 50.  I perused the possibility of receiving some sort of discounts at a casino or a free piece of pie at Denny's but decided to toss it in the rubbish bin. 

Some days it feels like I've learned a little something in my life.  Other days, I wouldn't count on my knowing anything.  There are days I feel like I'm on top of the world and other times that I feel like I should return to the starting point in my life and give it another go.  I began 2011 with this list of commitments to my own life.  Some are going better than others.  I'm grateful to be alive and thankful for all of my many friends who keep me going and put up with my shortcomings.  But I'm most thankful for my partner who has endeared himself to me over the years.  And who has easily taught me how to endear myself to him.  He is nothing short of life's greatest blessing. I cannot imagine this life without him. 

Today, I do what I've done for a few years now....post my mobile number for the masses to use....for a short time.  I know, I know....call me crazy.  I'd love a text or voice message or picture.  But please remember to tell me who it is so that I'll know who the message is from.  I've heard from so many of you on my birthday for several years now.  I can't wait to see how many messages I can get this year.  So, here you go, use me and abuse me for today only -- XXXXXXXX.  

And because it's my birthday, I get to do what I want.  And what I want is for the world to be a nicer and better place to exist.  I want for world peace, but who doesn't.  I want sick people to be healed.  I want mean people to go away....and the crazy people too.  That's all I want.  Easy, simple, doable.   Oh, and I want a piece of birthday cake too.....with ice cream. 

Thanks to you all for making my birthday, and this world, a much better place to be in.  I love you all dearly.

Favorite Times of the Year

And this is one of them.  I love that mid-February feeling, especially in Portland.  I've already spotted crocus in bloom and buds in some bushes.  And the pink trees along the Willamette River in downtown will be in bloom within a week or so.  Those are the first signs of late winter, early spring to me.  The grocery stores now have primrose and pansies stacked in front of them....perfect for pairing with kale in a pot near a front door.  It is still cold, but not below freezing like much of the rest of the country.  I like it here.  It feels comfortable. 

Plus, there's Valentine's Day.  Tomorrow.  Valentine's Day was my due date when Mommy was pregnant with me.  Alas, I needed five additional days of sweetening up in the pot before she pushed me out.  And, unfortunately, the five extra days didn't do a damned thing for sweetening me up.  At.  All.  I like having my birthday at this time of year. 

We are heading to Boise next week on another of our pilgrimage road trips back to Idaho for a family visit.  We're planning a big combination Birthday/Valentine's Day/Niece's Birthday gathering while we're there.  We do have to traverse the Blue Mountains of Northeast Oregon as we move along Interstate 84....but, honestly, the winters have just not been what they used to be years ago as far as snow, cold, ice and all of that.  We always enjoy our road trips. 

Tomorrow our taxes get done.  Like clockwork.  It's a little complicated nowadays what with our registered Oregon Domestic Partnership and all of that.  It requires extra pieces of paperwork to be completed.  And of course, the benefits that we get in our own state don't apply on a federal level.  Grrr.  But it always feels good to have them done for the year.  And it goes without saying that it feels good to have the extra cash back in my own pocket! 

So, it's easy for you to see why this is one of my most Favorite Times of the Year. 

Reminders.....

Today I've been furnished with a reminder.  I was going to say a "gentle reminder" but it's really not at all gentle.  This was in my inbox today:

"....Your method for picking friends is odd. It's hard to get a kick out of you when you don't let me. It's also odd how much alike we are. ( I can tell by your interests, and I dearly love your partner). You hurt people sometimes though. Do you care? Just wondering." 

Lordy, the truth hurts sometimes.  I guess there are mirrors in our lives for a reason.  You'll excuse me while I turn inward for a bit.  I've got some reflection to do. 

No Wonder Grandma Always Smelled So Good

You just never know how things are going to come together, or how the stars may just line up for you on any given day. Like when one sits down to write and express. I started to tell a coworker about my grandmother one day. We got to chatting about fancy air freshener sprays which reminded me of my grandmother. And that thought turned into another, and that one into yet another. And before I knew it, I had a whole sheet of ideas on my Grandmother.

Grandma and Grandpa moved from Ohio to Ontario, Oregon, around the tail end of the 1920s or 1930. My father was born in 1931 in Ontario. I know that Grandpa was an alcoholic and died of stomach cancer in 1965. Grandma went to work after that. For 90 cents an hour as an assistant at a nursing home. She retired 20 years later making $2.90 per hour. They lived in an old farm house on the outskirts of Ontario. Grandma tells me the story of getting herself all prettied up one day and walking into town to ask the businessman in town about the possibility of actually buying that house...for $4,000. With a single stove for heat. And they did buy it. That's where many of my early memories of Grandma took place. I remember her teeny tiny little black and white television with the rabbit ear antenna. And her black telephone up on the far south wall in the kitchen. I remember her telephone number to this day. I remember the day that the big old giant barn behind her house caught on fire thanks to my own father while he was just trying to burn down a few weeds near the barn. I remember all of my aunts, uncles, and cousins being piled into her small farmhouse kitchen eating on Sundays after church. Chicken and dumplings sticks in my mind for some reason. I remember the first time that my mom had to explain to me what a dumpling was. She never drove until after my Grandfather passed away. Then she bought herself a red Ford Comet that stayed with her until she drove no longer. She made her own clothes -- in fact, she had very few store-bought clothes. And it was all dresses, never trousers on Grandma....the church wouldn't approve. And she never wore jewelry except for her cameo necklace with Grandpa's picture in it and her wristwatch. The church wouldn't approve of jewelry. I would lay awake late at nights listening to a little black AM transistor radio -- KSRV was the station. I looked it up in the telephone book, found the address, and asked Grandma to drive me in the red Comet out to see where KSRV was located....to see where the little voices on the radio were coming from. I also asked her to drive me out to the Ontario airport so I could take a look. There was about as much there way back then as there is today.

And then she decided to leave the big farm house. She, my mom, and I went trailer shopping. They are called manufactured homes today. But this one was a trailer. A single wide. For $5,400. And she lived in that for many years and sold it for $5,200. I think that's where I remember bologna sandwiches on white potato bread (with butter for me, since I thought mayonnaise was the work of the devil just the same way I still believe today). And we'd wash it down with Cragmont cream soda from Safeway. Very often, I'd ride the Trailways bus from Boise to Ontario on Friday evenings. It would leave Boise at 5:30pm and arrive in Ontario at 7:30pm. And Grandma would be waiting for me, sitting in her car next to the Assembly of God church while the bus pulled in.

But the thing that got this whole piece started was when I was chatting with the coworker about good smelling air freshener sprays. Which reminded me of Grandma. You see, I would sneak into Grandma's bathroom when she lived in the trailer house and lock the door and start going through her medicine cabinet. And she had this pretty little can way up on the top shelf. I'd spray it in the air because it smelled good. And it should have. It was Grandma's F.D.S. spray.

Dog-Gone It

So, yeah, some days I think we're further down this trail of actually living in the year 2011 than others. Some days I think we're still living in the Dark Ages, the Stone Age, when things were rough, tough and horrible. But this is, indeed, the year 2011. When we are supposed to respect others. When we are supposed to draw attention to living and enjoying life. Being productive and progressive. And then the wind gets knocked out of our sails........

About 100 Husky dogs were slaughtered execution style in British Columbia last spring. After all of the hoopla and money surrounding the Olympic tourism died down and the visitors all returned home. Outdoor Adventures in Whistler, BC, is in a bit of trouble. As they should be. Their website makes note of the fact that they have suspended dog sledding for the time being. They ordered one of their employees to shoot 100 dogs and to dispose of them. And he did, to preserve his job. The investigators are now digging up the mass grave to continue in their investigation -- to decide if the dogs were even dead when they were placed into the grave. Rumors have it that at least some were still alive and clamoring to get out of the giant hole they were put into. And I love the part in the Outdoor Adventures Environmental web page where they talk about how much attention they give to recycling, that they are a carbon-neutral company, and that they are an "industry leader in stewardship and sustainability." Really? Really? Bullshit. I'm so sick of coverups and corporate crap. Fancy websites mean nothing if you've just ordered the shooting of 100 beautiful dogs to profit your bottom line.

Here is the Press Section of the Outdoor Adventures website attempting to explain how they were really trying to make this whole operation come off in a pretty, healthy, happy way....only killing the dogs that were "too old, sick, or not adoptable." What? You were employing dogs that were old and sick? Ugh. Oh, and the website also says that the company is "shocked and appalled" at the accusations. Umm hum, I'll just bet that they are. And here is an editorial by The Province journalist Jon Ferry.

You're worthless. Zeros. Nothings. I will speak up for the dogs any day over you. Our world is a mess. We're upside down, good looks bad and bad appears good. And now we're minus 100 beautiful, amazing and charming creatures in this world. Makes me so proud to be a human being living here on planet earth.

If You Have But One Life to Lead, Why Not Live It As a Blond?

Tell me, are you a blond? Brunette? Are there intrinsic, appointed qualities, behaviors behind one's coloring? How about what a blond would wear? Or how they smell? Or what their bellybuttons look like. I'm at the tail end of My Lives by Edmund White when I came to page 294 and his expose on being blond:

"....Everyone in America liked blonds and wanted to be one. 'If you have but one life to lead, why not live it as a blond?' was a Clairol ad of the day. Blonde women were sexy and dumb; blond men were intelligent and masterful. Blonds had downy hair on their arms, a shock of cotton candy under each arm, skin that was poreless and smooth as old percale and rubbery with youth, cool feet and warm chests, beards that came in late and heads that went bald early. Even their balding was patrician. Blonds were rare, pure; their necks and foreheads burned and their arms became amber brown under a dust of gold shavings. They looked good in pink or pale green linen, faded blue denim, their tanned feet sockless and sinewy in old, high polished loafers. Blond men were tenors. They had no smell or only the smell of cold lake water. They inspired love, not lust. Their best look was classic, not contemporary. They looked good in camel's hair overcoats, blue blazers, frayed but expensive old Oxford shirts, machine-washed sneakers, an inherited gold signet ring. They should never wear Speedo's, just baggy old swimsuits. Their bellybuttons, optimally, were outies as neat as a child's ear. Their lips should be slightly chapped, sore and pink and unkissable. They should dance badly, self-consciously and seldom. Their bodies should look better in clothes than out of them. During long periods they should not follow the conversation. They are idols and should accept it. An idol doesn't converse...."

Wow. I had no idea. But then again, I'm not blond.

The Jesus People

Well, now that I'm on a roll about exciting, entertaining passengers I may as well toss you another bone of laughter from my recent travels.

You remember the Jesus People....right? I do. They were alive and well during my early, formative church years. Well, don't tell anyone, but I think I saw them today. In a new, fresh updated style for the year 2011. They appeared in rows 16, 17 and 18 headed to the rich, white, Republican land of Orange County. Perhaps that will explain the entire story that I'm about to tell you. And you already know how I feel about that sterile mecca. Scattered about the rows like the violent storm on the Sea of Galilee. Daddy, Mommy, the Nanny and six little kiddies. Well, there was actually a seventh child at home which I found out via an overheard conversation. Seven children. For god's sake. I immediately thought Mormon or Catholic. But I don't think it was either. I'm thinking big evangelical church. A happy-go-lucky sort of compound where there are giant screens to put the words to the hymns on along with a praise band and fancy wireless Madonna-style microphones on the pastors.

Daddy caught my eye. Perhaps it was the intense butchness of his persona that attracted me. Or perhaps it was his closely-trimmed beard with just an edge of gingerish red to it. Or perhaps it was the look that I've seen from straight men in the past when they are ushered into that uncomfortable lair of whirled up, rainbow-colored gayness. The look of "Are you gay?" The look of "Don't you even think of coming near my children." You know, trying to read me. Harsh, cold and rigid. But I think that the dead giveaway that they were the Jesus People reincarnated was their set of matching t-shirts. Each one had them. Bright, pretty sky blue in color. With their last name in large letters across the shoulders and a scripture below that: "But as for me and my house, we will serve the Lord."

Oh boy, the cameras were flashing pictures of one another; the kiddies were running around like the Disciples when Jesus entered the room. Coloring books, crayons, iPods, Hello Kitty backpacks. And Bibles. Oh yeah, Mommy was reading one. She probably needed to with seven children. I know I would. And, you know, they were not much more than 40 or 45. With seven tax deductions! I'm estimating an annual tax savings of about $7,000 ($1,000 per child) for the little rugrats. Maybe I'll start having children.

And there was what I originally thought was the oldest child. A girl. Maybe 18 or 20, pretty, blonde, and clearly removed, distant, from the rest of the family. Headphones on. Singing the words to our airline's boarding music.....Drops of Jupiter by Train. Cool song. But for a church girl? Maybe that's the way they do things nowadays. But when I was in church, there was no crossover between the spiritual and the secular. There is no way we'd be singing a song of the devil. And then she stands up and it all becomes clear when I see the "Super Nanny" distinction blazoned across her back with the scripture following. She's the nanny in this family overrun with children. No wonder she had her headphones on.

Amen and Praise the Lord.

Twinkie

It is no surprise that my life is filled with an intimate, up close look at a wide variety of people. Young, old, abled and not, positive and horrible, in a wide variety of colors. I see it all. I hear it all. And I'm at the point in my life where I giggle, laugh and make fun of most of it. It's either that or explode in a violent frenzy of beer drinking and escape slide usage.

Change of subject for a second -- I love t-shirts. I'd almost call it a fetish but that conjures up visions of other things so we'll just call it a strong like (as Facebook would call it). I always look at t-shirts most anyplace we go. And I've been eyeballing this particular line of shirts at Target for quite some time now. But I'm also trying to be more prudent about my discretionary spending so I've chosen not to buy it. And now I know why. Two afternoons headed toward Austin, Texas, I was my typical cheery, smiling self saying "Hi There" to those coming through the forward L-1 boarding door. When lo and behold, I was taken aback. And that doesn't happen often with me. Here she came with MY t-shirt. The one I want!

Do you see the Twinkie in this picture? The picture right here? You see it....right? Well, imagine it stretched tight across the chest of a very large overweight woman (I swear she had to be from Portland.....). Yes sir, that little sponge cake with the sweet chemical filling was nestled in between the floundering breasts of this smiling, happy woman. "Hi there," she said to me as I'm aghast and staring uncontrollably at her titties. It reminded me of Oregon's Three Sisters mountains. I typically would strike up a conversation with people about their t-shirts, watches, glasses, handbags, whatever. But that day, in that situation, I was caught without words. Well, I did have a few, come to think of it. But they were not appropriate for the forward galley on a Boeing 737-800 bound for Austin within earshot of the First Class section. I'm sure that my head was moving from left to right in a reading sort of fashion as I went from Tit 1 to Twinkie to Tit 2. Lord, I will never see that t-shirt the same. No matter who it's on. Oh, and it is what's on the inside that counts, don't 'cha know.

Minute Maid

Did you know that I serve Minute Maid juice on my flights? Nope, I didn't either. But apparently I do....according to the precious middle-aged, overweight dude in 18A just an hour or two ago. The conversation actually didn't involve me directly...but I was on the aft end of the trolley overhearing the exchange and giggling (I had to....I just had to):

18A: What kind of juice do you have?
Trolley Dolley: Orange, apple, cranberry and tomato.
18A: I want a can of Minute Maid orange.
Trolley Dolley: None of our juices come in a can and we don't serve Minute Maid.
18A: Yes they do. I want the one in a can.
Trolley Dolley: No sir, they all come in boxes. And we don't serve Minute Maid.
18A: No they don't. I've flown your airline 12 times over the last year and have always had Minute Maid orange in a can.
Trolley Dolley: No, I've been here for many years and have never seen Minute Maid.

You see, the truth is that we have never served Minute Maid. And have never served any juice in a can. I'm not sure what he settled on, but that's how exchanges occasionally go in this occupation. He was convinced of his own reality in spite of the fact that it wasn't the truth. I'm amazed how people get so easily confused. They will tell me that they flew my airline into, oh say, Lincoln, Nebraska last year to see their relatives. Well, the fact is that we don't fly to Lincoln. But they are convinced that we do. I'm not sure the specifics of how the human mind and psyche work. But it would be a long thesis for someone to write about. I'm wondering if he ever found his Minute Maid in a can today.

Hump Day Happenings

It's back! My sinus infection, that is. I was out of work for a week or more, went back to the friendly skies, and now it appears to have returned. I honestly thought I was over it. I'm a die-hard fan of my NeilMed Sinus Flushing System. Amazing how good it feels to actually remove the crud from the inside of one's sinuses. In all seriousness, if you're not using it, you should be -- anybody with allergies, colds, sinus issues and the like will find great relief.

Conversion Disorder. Anybody have personal experience?

I ask a row of passengers the other day what they'd like to drink. I do that regularly, you know. And the lady tells me that she's going to have an orange juice and her husband (who is not in his seat at the time) will have nothing "because he's been a very naughty boy." And the conversation ensues from there while I see her husband back behind our beverage trolley waiting patiently to get back to his seat after using the restroom. I'm listening to her tell me this story about him being naughty while I'm staring back to him behind our cart in the center aisle. Just looking around, totally unaware of what his wife has just told me. I wonder if it was true? And I wonder if it crossed his mind when I said to him, "And what does the naughty boy want to drink today?" He looked sort of innocent to me.

Mason has made yet another trip to the veterinarian. I swear, it's a very good thing that we're enrolled in Banfield's Wellness Program which equates to free office visits and a reduction in all other services and procedures. He's better now but over the weekend he was pacing around, uncomfortable, unable to rest, relax or sleep. We have done our best, you all know we have. We've changed foods, tried this, tried that. And now he's on this ultra-low-allergen dog food and absolutely no people food. Apparently small breed dogs, and even light-colored dogs, tend to have more allergy issues than others. He's better now but it seems to just keep happening. And he's such a good boy....it's hard to see him at the Vet. Trembling, staring at us, begging us to get him out of there.

And before I go, I'd just like to say that I'm thankful I've got more in the shorts than Howard Stern apparently has. I heard it with my own ears last night on the new Piers Morgan show......Stern tells Morgan that he's "Hung Like a Raisin." And I was wondering.

Mid-Winter Meanderings

Whew. My niece's MRI for the conditions I mentioned in my earlier post showed normal! Normal. Subjective, I know. But nonetheless, no physical issue going on in her brain. Great news. The bad news is that it is a psychological issue. She's had a tough life. And I've always counted her as able to get over things probably a little more quickly than she apparently has been able to. She is going to be visiting with several psychiatric doctors to get this thing ironed out. I'm thankful. I'm hopeful. But I'm still not completely happy.

We did the unthinkable last night. Seriously. It's been years since we've gone to a real live mainstream movie theater to see a movie. You see, Portland is filled to overflowing with all sorts of independent theaters where you can take your pizza, beer, burger, whatever into the theater and watch a movie. They charge $3 for the movie and then you buy your food. You sit on couches, big soft chairs and the like. So that's typically the theaters we end up at. If our friends hadn't given us certificates to go to a real theater, we would not have. Are you kidding? $10 admission plus another $10 or more per person for treats? Umm, nope. Back to the movie at hand, we saw The King's Speech based on the true-life story of King George VI during the 1930s-1940s. Amazing. Brilliant. A must-see.

I'm nearly at the end of ten days with congestion, a sore throat, coughing and zero energy. Thankfully, it is just about gone and I can get myself back to work. I pushed and shoved myself back to yoga yesterday. It felt great but, boy oh boy, my energy has been seriously lacking. And this New Year's Resolution thing has the gym and parking lot hopping. Wow. Lots of "I have to be in the gym in January" people there. My favorite thing about going yesterday? Probably when my yoga guide Carla said, "I wish you peace, peace, and more peace." I think we all need a little more of that. A lot more, perhaps.

Our airline has new uniforms which we'll be transferring over to on January 28. I've been a little hesitant about them....the sizing, color, fabric, lack of practical options as far as shirts go, and that sort of thing. But they have now arrived after a six-month wait. They are currently at the tailors being fitted and should be ready to roll soon! They do look good, I must admit. It's been more than ten years since we've had new uniforms to sport in the Friendly Skies. Coffee, tea, or me??

We're in the middle of heavy chat about what to do for our vacation this year. Money. Timing. All of that. Our list is very long of things we'd like to do -- narrowing it down to a do-able, financially-good-fit option is the tough part. We have more vacation time available than money to do vacations with. Plus, I've got several large bills that I'm trying to get a prudent handle on this year....and that has my attention more than even taking a trip somewhere.

The Cold Chill of Winter

I'm not really quite sure what to say, exactly. I've been sick for a week. Sinusitis, sore throat, ear aches, feel like crappola. And I'm home sick. But that's the least of my worries.

There's a serious chill in my life right now. It's my beautiful niece. She will be 15 in a week or two. She's smart, pretty and a pleasure to be around (much like her uncle). But there's trouble. Since January 1, she has developed numerous physical ailments that are not good. She is not able to speak more than a word at a time without difficulty, she can't walk correctly, she cannot use her hands to dial a telephone, she's not able to sit or hold still, she cannot feed herself or drink without spilling it everywhere, and she cannot write....even a single letter on a page is apparently difficult. Her entire body is writhing -- all of her limbs and joints unable to hold still. She will not be able to return to her 9th grade school this week, clearly. I'm not sure what is going to happen. She's been to several doctors over the last week including a neurologist. An MRI is scheduled in a few days.

Emilee came into this life a fighter. She was born with several heart valves malfunctioning and without a complete septum dividing the two sides of her heart -- and came very close to dying. At 13 months, she underwent open heart surgery. She's tough. And we love her with all of our hearts. She always brings a smile to our faces. She's fun to be with and our time with her has always been accented by memorable times. Please keep her, us, in your good thoughts and prayers this week. It's all just cropped up so, so fast. And she is way too young for this sort of thing.

Looking Into the Face of the Past

Holy mackerel. I haven't had to look into the past for quite some time now. You know, those dark areas of one's former life that bring up various emotions and feelings and remind one of situations that we wish we could forget.

My family and friends are filled with a variety of troubles....not unlike any other group on the face of the earth. And I think it's fair to say that alcoholism is right near the top of the list. The list is long of those whose lives have turned sour because of the icky old bottle. I don't have the time or adequate space here and now to recount the stories -- police, job loss, DUI, courts, jail, physical harm, mental anguish, horrible harmful words spewed, and the like. But I think you get the picture. However, I'm very glad to say, that there are at least a few in my life that have taken the bull by the horns and have righted themselves...much like a ship being tossed by giant waves, they have found calmer seas and have discovered a beautiful way of correcting the course of their life.

But I stared down the dark hole recently into the face of drunks. Loudmouth, out of control, vicious, nasty drunks. I was really uncomfortable and felt completely out of place. I was embarrassed. It felt like my past life. I wanted the restaurant bill paid pronto and I wanted out. Now! I know the look in the eyes, the slurred speech, the attempts at putting sentences together, and the escalating volume of voice. It's not pretty. In fact, it's ugly. And it makes me sad. I hate to see people who have turned control of their lives over to the bottle. And it's been years, many years, since I've had to face it and see it personally. It reminded me of dark terrible days in past years. And I don't want to go there again.

Re-Commitment To My Own Life

True happiness comes from having a sense of inner peace and contentment, which in turn must be achieved by cultivating altruism, love and compassion, and by eliminating anger, selfishness and greed -- the Dalai Lama

Peace. It does not mean to be in a place where there is no noise, trouble or hard work. It means to be in the midst of those things and still be calm in your heart.

Re-Commitment to My Own Life

1. Smile more often.
2. Make more eye contact.
3. Slow down: Walk more slowly, walk less arrogantly, be in less of a hurry, stop looking for ways to speed up situations/processes.
4. Spend less time on the internet.
5. Practice yoga more often.
6. Pay more attention to my partner.
7. Be less rigid in life: at work, in my processes/procedures.
8. Less “Have to’s” in my life and more “Want to’s.”
9. Less self-induced pressure.
10. Be more approachable; be invitational, not confrontational.
11. More consideration given to indiscriminate financial spending.
12. Cook at home more often.
13. Walk more in Portland neighborhoods.
14. Continue to allow trees, rivers, the sky, and nature to captivate and nourish me.
15. Focus on my breath, breathe deeper, breathe more slowly.
16. Set my intention for each moment and interaction: What is it that I can bring to this moment? What is it that I can take from this moment?
17. Consider others and where they are coming from.
18. Stare more. Think more. Consider more. Ponder more.
19. Center/balance/focus on positive, healthy, good.
20. At Bedtime each night: Be thankful for the day; let today’s troubles rest; exhale slowly.
21. At the end of each day: Be thankful for one thing I did right that day. Put at rest one thing I did poorly that day.

Finale

Finale. Why is it that saying goodbye sometimes feels so good? I'm not a wisher-awayer of time. I believe in taking advantage of every single moment of our lives in a positive sort of way. But sometimes it feels like a cleansing to put things behind us. Like toxic people. Horrible situations. Family troubles. Even entire years sometimes. Which we'll all do in just a few hours. This will be my last post of 2010. It's been a wild ride for all of us, just like they all are. Ups and downs. Screaming, yelling, and bad attitudes combined right alongside smiles, pats on the back, and the power of positive thinking. Funny how they all work together to present us with the thing we call our lives.

January 1, 2011, will produce a Re-Commitment to My Own Life here. I don't see it as a resolution or one of those flash-in-the-pan sort of things. I'm not that kind of guy. I do see it as a reminder. To myself.....that there are things I need to continue to hone in my focus on. To keep on keeping on. To remind myself of my humanity, my weakness, and my goodness. I don't plan on all of the things being "done" by the end of 2011. Or even by the end of my life, for that matter. I will add to the list. I will subtract from it. It is just a good working tool to bring me back to middle ground when the days get hectic.

Bon Voyage 2010. You've produced in me some beautiful things. And you've reminded me that the ickiness of my insides can come forth if not kept in check. But I've appreciated you for what you are. The good and the bad. The curtain must come down on yet one more year of our lives. I hope I get quite a few more years ahead in my life to learn and enjoy.